by Tia Siren
“And you aren’t mother,” Catherine said over her shoulder, and she moved down the hall towards the staircase. Rebecca didn’t bother following.
Outside, the air was growing chill, and Catherine mentally cursed herself for not thinking to grab a shawl to wrap around her mostly bare arms. There was a horse and carriage outside the front door, as father always liked from sun up to sun down, just in case anyone needed to get somewhere in a hurry. The driver was an older man named Samuel with a limp in his right arm.
“Evening, Lady Catherine,” the old man said, sweeping his hat from his head and bowing.
“Samuel,” Catherine replied.
“Need me?”
“Not this evening, it is just a short walk I am after,” Catherine replied, and she couldn’t help but notice the look of relief which swept over Samuel’s face. It was so close to evening, and she knew the old man was tired and his leg was aching from a day of mostly standing, and then being cramped up in his driver’s box as he chauffeured the family around town. It was so close to nightfall, and he would be pulling the carriage around to the back of the house, and handing the horse off to the stable boys there, and then going to his own home, a small one-room home of sorts built of wood that lay situated at the very back of her father’s land.
Catherine left the grounds and turned right, towards town, but, of course, they lived some distance away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Here there were long stretches of land, and a curving river of cool and clear water, which cut through the fields and the small spattering of wooded area that grew up here and there.
It was the river she was after, or at least a small dock situated upon it, not even a quarter of a mile up the road from her home. The river was called the King’s River, and it was just wide and deep enough for a smaller sized ferry, and her father and some of their neighbors had supplies floated to them from town, instead of making trips in.
She had first met Dominick there, in the small shed, which housed boating supplies and stretched out over the river on waterlogged wooden struts green with algae. They had been eight then, both of them born in the same month, September, of the same year. He had been rough and dirty, his pants dirty, his knees scraped. She had been a Lady then as well, of course, and took it upon herself to stay away from mud and dirt, and things that may scrape her knees. But she couldn’t resist such passions when she was around Dominick, and when she had returned home the evening of that first day, she had been dirty, her dress had been ripped, and her father had swatted her bottom with a leather switch. She had cried and cried, her backside had been red and painful, but she mostly cried because she had wanted to be still with Dominick.
Even years later, over a decade, that same feeling had not dissipated. She wanted to spend time with Dom, as she had grown to call him, and if the days stretched on and she still did not see him, she grew sad. Everyone knew about their friendship, and when they were younger, everyone had often joked about what it would be like when they got married.
But that was nothing but jests, and everyone had known that as well, all except for Catherine, it had seemed. She wouldn’t be marrying Dom. She would be marrying Duke Andrew Rotham. He was older, almost thirty. He was a handsome man, that was true enough, but he wasn’t the man Catherine loved. Sadly, she had no choice in the matter.
Dominick was already waiting for her when she arrived, dressed in his best suit and standing at the edge of the covered dock, looking down at the water. Her footsteps caught his ear, and he turned to see her. She smiled, as she always did when she saw him, but he did not.
“What is it Dominick?” she asked, going to him. He reached out and took her hands in his. His hands were large, rough and masculine in a way that Catherine doubted Duke Rotham’s were. Dominick stood some inches over Catherine, and she looked up into his eyes. She could sense something was wrong; she had been able to tell when he hadn’t returned her smile.
“I leave tomorrow,” Dominick said softly.
“Leave?”
“My whole regiment,” the young man explained. Dominick was a soldier though his father was in good enough standing in the community, and rich enough, that he had never been far from home.
“To war?” Catherine asked. She hadn’t heard a word of any battles raging, but the skirmishes these men could cook up, they were apt to spring up overnight.
Dom laughed and shook his head. “Thank the Heavens,” he said, “no.”
“Then, where?”
“I do not know exactly, but I’m led to believe that it will be some sort of training, perhaps to bring my regiment closer together. You know how they love to call us brothers in arms.”
“How long will you be gone?” Catherine asked, and even as she spoke she felt the sharp sting of tears in her eyes.
Dominick let go of her hand with his right, and traced his thumb under one of her eyes, where a single tear had escaped over her eyelid and ran down her cheek, leaving a wet trail like a snail on a garden path. “Six months, maybe more.”
Catherine couldn't suppress the gasp that came from between her open lips. “Half a year?” she said, holding her free hand to her chest.
“Yes,” Dominick said.
“I don’t understand,” Catherine said, shaking her head.
“It’s that new commander,” Dominick said, referring to an old man with a hard demeanor named Colonel Croft. “You know the reputation my company has,” the young man went on.
Catherine nodded because that was true enough. The group of soldiers to which Dominick belonged was thought of as weak and soft, spoiled young men with fathers rich enough to keep them out of harm's way. It seemed as if Colonel Croft was anxious to dispel that notion since taking over the regiment.
“So they’re sending you away for six months, maybe more? It may as well be war.”
“Don’t say that,” Dominick said quickly, shaking his head once from side to side.
Catherine lowered her eyes, embarrassed. As soft as his company may have been, she knew he had found himself once in the midst of a bloody battle, a skirmish that sprang up where none had been expected. He had declined ever to speak with her about the matter, and she hadn’t pressed, if only because she saw the dark shadow that crossed over him when it was brought up.
“It’s not as bad as war,” the young man said finally. He had dropped her other hand now, and she yearned for him to take them both again, but he didn’t. “However, six months is a long time and the wedding…”
It usually went unspoken between them, Catherine’s upcoming nuptials. She knew it was as painful for Dominick as it was for her. But now, with him leaving, it couldn’t remain an issue that gnawed at their minds silently.
“I won’t be married that quickly. No date has been set yet. The Duke doesn’t seem to want to push me before I am ready. The arrangement is good enough for him.”
“So when do you think you’ll be ready?” Dominick asked, not bothering to hide the disgust from his tone.
“That’s not what I meant,” Catherine said as she looked down once more. “Oh Dom, I shall never be ready for that.”
Dominick sighed and nodded. He placed a hand under the young woman’s chin and tilted her face up so he could see her eyes. They were still wet, full of tears. “I’m sorry to have upset you, Catherine,” he said. “I only wanted you to meet me so I could say goodbye.”
She nodded, and when he lowered his head to kiss her, she didn’t stop him. They had kissed before of course, as children the first time as would be lovers after. Her lips were plump and full, his thinner but hungry. They kissed, and his hand went to the side of her face, his strong fingers tracing along her jawline. They kissed, and his other hand went to her chest, two fingers hooking the top of her dress, brushing against her ample cleavage. He began to tug the dress down.
Catherine broke the kiss, took his hand in both of hers. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Dominick said, as though that was all he
needed to say, and that it had explained everything.
“Dom,” Catherine started, but she didn’t know how to finish her sentence. She and Dom had kissed, and done more, but they had never laid together. She was untouched in that way, no matter how many times Dominick had tried to convince her to lay with him. She wanted to, of course, but the shame she would feel, being unmarried, being soiled on her wedding night instead of pristine and untouched for her husband, she never could.
“Dom,” she said again. “I can’t.”
Dominick changed in a flash, his brows knit and pulled low over his eyes, his mouth turned downward into a cruel sneer. She had seen it before, had accepted it as a flaw in the man she loved, how quickly he could turn angry.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll be gone, and you can have your Duke.”
“Dominick, it isn’t like that,” Catherine said, but the man was already brushing past her, heading out from under the cover of the dock, into the night. He didn’t say anything, and Catherine watched him go with more tears coming to sting her eyes.
****
When Catherine returned home, she had only been in her room for what seemed like a few minutes when her sister was at her door. Catherine hadn’t bothered to dress for bed; she had just flopped onto the mattress in her dress. The only comfort she had allowed herself was leaning down and pulling those ankle high boots off and letting them drop to the floor.
“How is Dom?” Rebecca asked her.
Catherine sat up. “How did you know I went to speak with Dom?”
Rebecca laughed. She had dressed for bed in a simple white nightgown. Her bare feet took her across her sister’s room where she sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on Catherine’s knee.
“Little sister, the only time you’ve ever snuck out of the house at night is to see Dominick.”
“I didn’t sneak out,” Catherine said, a bit of defensiveness in her voice.
“Sure,” Rebecca said, content to let her sister believe that if she so wanted. “How is Dom?”
It was no secret that Rebecca didn’t much care for Dominick, but Catherine had always believed it was simply because her oldest sister was jealous. Rebecca didn’t look like Catherine, or their sister in the middle, Samantha. Where the two younger were slight and delicate, with ample bosoms, Rebecca was tall, taller than most men, and as flat as the boards which made up the side of a barn. She was pretty, her face with nice features, but her frame was simply longer, taller than most men might like. She had been lonely, and the attention her younger sisters got surely bothered her.
“He’s leaving tomorrow. His whole regiment is being taken on some sort of exercise. For half a year, at least.”
Rebecca nodded softly. “You have the Duke; maybe this will be good for you, to focus on what you should be focusing on. Without that boy here, you can turn your eyes to the man they should be turned upon.”
Catherine sighed, but she didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to argue with Rebecca, and so she let her say what she wanted. When her older sister realized Catherine was content to concede so early, she stood and bent, kissing Catherine on the forehead.
“Things will look better in the morning,” she promised, and then she left Catherine’s room.
Catherine lay in her bed, looking at the canopy above her bed. It was a soft pink color and felt almost like silk. She reached up, her fingers brushing along the material, which fell from the canopy to surround her bed. Sometimes it brought her comfort, sometimes it reminded her of years past, better years when she wasn’t promised to some man she hardly knew when she thought she would marry Dominick. That night, however, it brought no comfort.
The next morning Catherine was woken by the morning light, warm and yellow and lying in a rectangular shaft over her eyes. She blinked and sat up, still dressed in the same gown she had worn to see Dom. She called for a bath, and then undressed while the servant girls went to ready it. One came back in, a young girl with hair the color of straw and a mousy face. She was named Diana, and Catherine liked her very much. She knew the twelve-year-old girl had a crush on one of the boys who worked in the stables.
“Have you spoken with Horace of late?” Catherine asked, and the girl blushed.
“No, Lady Catherine,” Diana whispered as she held a robe up.
“Diana, please, call me Catherine,” the older woman said, and the girl nodded. It was something she had often been told, and something she wasn’t very likely to do. Catherine pulled the robe over her body and allowed Diana to lead her out of her room and to the washroom, where a large tub had been filled with hot water. She dropped the robe to the floor and stepped into the tub, grimacing as the water nipped painfully at her flesh until she was submerged to her neck, and she began to grow accustomed to the heat.
Diana stood nearby, in case the Lady would need anything.
“If you like the boy, you should tell him,” Catherine said, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the edge of the tub.
“He would never like me,” Diana said sadly. “Not when there are others around.”
Catherine opened her eyes and looked to the girl. “Come here,” she said, and Diana stepped forward obediently. Catherine took her small hand with her own wet one. “Never think yourself inferior,” Catherine told the girl. “There will always be someone prettier, or smarter, or better at something. That said, you will always have something better than them. You’re a beautiful young woman, Diana, and you would do well to remember that.”
The young girl nodded, and Catherine smiled to her, and then, to ease the mood she made a silly face and sank completely into the tub. When she surfaced, she could hear the girl giggling, and she reached for a towel to dry her eyes.
After her bath, Catherine and Diana returned to her room, and two other servant girls came in to help Catherine dress. She chose a gown of lilac, with a white lace that ran along the skirt, and a shawl to drape over her arms, because it was growing a bit chilly as the fall came on strong.
Just as she was finishing up being dressed, there was a knock upon her door.
“Come in,” Catherine said, turning so Diana could lace the back of the dress up. The door opened, and another servant came in, an older woman named Helen whom Catherine had known since she was a small child.
“Lady Catherine,” Helen said, in her shaky voice. She had been sick of late, and Catherine was beginning to worry about her health.
“Hello Helen,” Catherine said. “Care to sit down?” she added, motioning with one hand to a chair which sat pushed into a small writing desk.
“No ma’am,” Helen said. “I’ve come to tell you Duke Rotham has called upon you. He awaits you in the drawing room.
Catherine smiled and nodded on her exterior, but inside, she felt a cold hand seize her, possibly grabbing her heart. As she stood there, being laced up, Dom was surely on his way out of the city while the man she was being forced to marry was right beneath her feet, in her home. Tears threatened to come once again, in an instant, but the young woman willed them away.
“Please tell him I’ll be right down,” Catherine said, and Helen bowed her head and went out.
“Perhaps I will love a man and marry him the way you love and will marry the Duke,” Diana said in a hopeful voice. It pained Catherine, but she nodded. “I’m sure it will be so,” she said.
****
Duke Rotham was a tall man but with a wiry frame, thin and lean. Where Dominick was large and muscular, built seemingly for strength, the Duke was built for speed. He was lithe, and though athletic, he could never hope to best someone like Dominick in a test of physicality.
Rotham stood from the parlor chair in which he had been sitting when Catherine walked in. She went up to him without hesitation, and he took one of her hands and bowed his head so that he may kiss it.
“My dear Lady Catherine,” he said.
“Duke Rotham,” Catherine said, bowing slightly. “What brings you here?”
&nb
sp; “Well it isn’t much of a nice day, I must admit,” the Duke said, nodding his head towards the nearest window. “I’m afraid the cold winds are coming a bit sooner than I would like, but I am going on a trip and wanted to extend an invitation to you.”
“A trip?” Catherine asked, and for one wild moment she thought for some reason that Duke Rotham would be going where Dom was.
“A hunting trip,” the Duke said. “Fox of course. At this time of the year, they are simply teeming on the countryside.”
“You wish me to hunt?” Catherine asked, somewhat shocked. The Duke laughed.
“No, my dear, I wish you to come along. Many of the men have their wives come, or the ladies they fancy. There is a series of cabins, we all stay in when hunting out past Westerfield. The women befriend one another, and manage to fill our bellies when we return each evening after a long day.”
Catherine was already shaking her head, and he saw that and stopped speaking.
“I’m sorry, Duke,” she said. “Hunting…. I abhor it… to even be around such cruelty, I must admit my stomach would not be strong enough for it.”
Duke Rotham smiled, but the young woman could see the disappointment in his eyes, there was no way he could hide it.
“There is no cruelty when I hunt,” Rotham said. “It is a match of wits and speed,” he went on. “To catch a fox, you need both.”
“And dogs to rip it apart,” Catherine said, suddenly emboldened, but by what she didn’t know.
Duke Rotham shook his head softly. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” He paused. ”You know, I would ask that young man who you are so in love with about cruelty,” he said.
“Dominick?”
“Yes, the young soldier.”
“I’m not in love with him,” Catherine stuttered, and the Duke laughed, not in a spiteful or mean way, he was simply genuinely amused.
“Of course you are, my dear,” he said. “But I would implore you to ask him about his past. Ask him about Ginger Street.”
